


I hunger for the vertigo

by EnlacingLines



Series: We make magic from the mundane [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Confusion, Falling In Love, Fluff, Lance (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Love Confessions, M/M, Post S8, Post Season 8, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Soul-Searching, this gets super sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 06:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18935230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnlacingLines/pseuds/EnlacingLines
Summary: Keith confesses on a Wednesday afternoon when the sky is full of storm. And Lance...does not know how he feels.Surely, if it were love, he’d know?A post season 8 story on types of love, a quiet life, and the hunger for falling.





	I hunger for the vertigo

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a combination of an idea I had a long time ago for a canon compliant story, and a want to write a particular type of post-canon reaction in Lance. 
> 
> It is a completely separate story from my other post season 8 collection. 
> 
> There will be two parts to this series with the follow up coming very soon, once it's edited! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :)

Keith tells him on a Wednesday afternoon when the sky is full of storm, up to the brim and poised for overflow. 

 

“I’m in love with you.” 

 

It’s to the point, a confession of epic proportions as Lance knows love does not come easy to Keith, but once his decision is made he’s resolute, fixed. His face is set now, the storm behind him, the daylight fading but the edge of a blush still seen on his cheeks. The flush is an indication of the courage it took to speak those words, showing the gravitas of the moment. 

 

And Lance feels…

 

He doesn’t know, but it is not the rush of falling. It’s hard to place, even hours later, exactly what he said in response but he hit pause. Said he’d need to think which is not how a love confession should go but he does, it is his truth. Keith cannot just say he loves him after four years of good, real friendship and expect him to not contemplate, sort through the complexity and come up with an answer. 

 

Keith does not mind. Or does not say if he does. He’d timed his revelation to perfection, on the doorstep just before take off, an escape route set and measured. Almost as if he’d known what Lance would do, how he’d feel. 

 

Which is something in itself as, Lance still does not know. 

 

Keith flies into the storm and that is a stirring, an echoing and Lance stands and watches because it is everything that binds them, cements impulsive Keith to his memory and has him smiling, laughing as the rain falls and he watches the craft speed, race and dive. 

 

Racing into the eye of the storm. Lance would do that too, would have done that. They both have that streak within them. 

 

And of course Keith brings him rain, leaves him standing in the downpour, Lance’s favourite type of bad weather. Leaves him with the vision of danger but of stillness, of those determined fire eyes, that nervous twitch to his hands. Keith gives him his contradictions wrapped up in paper and string to do what he will with them. A gift of trust among the dynamite departure. 

 

And Lance still does not know what he feels. 

 

* * *

 

It’s been a problem, you see, for a while. Feeling. In all aspects, every shape and turn of life. The years that followed the ending of the war, the loss of Allura and the departure of the Lions has been a ricochet of inaction and actions. Deepest lows that threatened to consume each hour before slowly, with time, Lance learned how to make them abate. 

 

Grief in multiple faculties; of losing the person he loved, had loved for so long. In losing Red, that twinned life force, a consciousness ripped from his own by her departure, no longer hearing the song, the companionship that had sung in his mind for years. He returned from a war, victorious but changed, and with nothing to walk into. 

 

So he went back to what he’d craved for eons in the vastness of dark space, what he’d imagined to keep him sane. Family. He’d made a list to pass the time, starting back once he’d realised they wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, of all the things he missed, all the things he would do, see, try and relish in as soon as he got home. Top of his list, was his family, his main priority. 

 

He surrounded himself with them and their work on the farm as he patched himself together from shreds and spares, attempted to make something new of what remained of his dreams and hopes. He clambered away from his mind’s traps, learned to gather what he had and fight the new battles, for himself and for his new life. Although he wasn’t sure, still is not sure what that is. 

 

It’s just so  _ quiet _ . 

 

Everything is quiet. He only has one voice in his mind, his own, and sometimes that’s enough to make him scream. He is never short of people in his life, between his friends and his family and his families friends and their neighbours and the Blade whom they now partner with but-

 

It’s so deafeningly quiet. 

 

He has a routine. Clockwork he marches, does his part and helps the running off the farm, creates the means for the Blade to help support those far and wide across galaxies, which have timescales and orders he needs to fill. He goes to dinners, he helps his niece and nephew with their school work. He talks to his friends, his old team, sees them on occasion and spends a lot of time with Keith at every supply run. He tends to Allura’s memorial garden, remembers her with a fondness no longer coloured by agony, carries on and on in an endless loop of comforting recognition with little deviation. 

 

Except it’s so menacing in it’s perfection and silence. 

 

And with it, the void. It’s a half life, dying the moment it begins. Lance is participating, reaching out but he’s in a glass box, devoid of sound. He is happy when his sister gets engaged, but it’s as if he’s replaying a memory of that feeling, worn out from overuse. He is sad when their cat dies, but only a half measure of sorrow. He is excited for Hunk with every new venture but he cannot seem to dredge up the bubbles and fizz of how excitement once felt. 

 

He feels almost nothing. Nothing at all, at any moment. It’s all too silent. He is restless in his desire for an unexpected moment, a jump start, a shock to the core, anything to transform reality to sound. 

 

And it’s cruel and strange but he longs for the blare of sirens. For the trepidation of a last fight, the exhalation of running for cover against real daggers, real lasers, real death. Chasing on the heels of annihilation, jumping into almost misses and being part of a goal to save reality. 

 

He’s a soldier that returned from battle only to find the war is more real than the peacetime he fought for. He’d rather live in the nightmares some days because at least there he is fully and completely terrified and that is more emotion than he thinks he’s felt in years. 

 

He yearns, craves, hungers for the free fall of knowing he may breathe his last this second or the next. Counting supplies, tending to a garden and working machinery on the worst days makes him want to claw out of his skin and scream until he burns alive. 

 

Or flies into a storm, disappears like lightning. 

 

That’s the problem with Keith’s confession. Lance knows he feels something from underwater, but he’s so far from dry land he cannot identify with it. Surely, if it were love, he’d know? All the love songs in the world would not exist if love were mundane and unrecognisable. So therefore he must not return Keith’s feelings, yet in the moment he did not answer. Why? There is a spark among the ashes, an ember of something. But that isn’t a response either. 

 

Lance has a week. In a week Keith returns, so until then he must simmer, strategise and surrender.

 

* * *

 

In much the same way as he has coped with the numbness so far, he asks questions. He’s been asking questions since he was able to speak, and thinks he’ll continue like that until he forgets how to talk entirely. 

 

“How did I know I loved her?” Veronica repeats, tone perplexed but patient. 

 

Lance nods, sips his coffee as Veronica frowns over hers. 

 

“Mami always talks about knowing Papi was the one from the day she met him. You gonna tell me it’s the same with Acxa?” Lance says, all tease and no bite. 

 

Veronica rolls her eyes. 

 

“Of course not, and Mami told us that as kids. You ask her now and you’ll get something different. Believe me.”

 

Lance snorts but waits, his sister’s eyes still searching, lingering, checking as they always do now. The protective instinct, the care and worry, the McClain system locking in. We defend, we look after one another. 

 

“I missed her too much. Not just in a gradual way, but whenever she was gone I’d count down until we’d meet up again. Wanted to spend time with her first, before I saw anyone else. I think that’s probably what made me realise, but it’s lots of things really.” 

 

Lance contemplates and his sister studies him. 

 

“Why?” she asks once the pause gets the better of her. 

 

Lance shrugs, not sure if there is a language for nothingness.

 

“I don’t remember how that feels. The falling part of falling in love. If I’ll know it when I see it again.” 

 

Veronica places her cup down. “Memories aren’t the same anyway. And it’s not always falling, Lance. If there was one term for love there wouldn’t be thousands of movies for different types of relationships. It would all be less confusing I guess, but part of the joy is it’s different each time.” 

 

Except that’s not what he means. Lance wants the fall. Wants to crash land and feel the thrill, the unexpected nature. Anything less can’t possibly be a good sign. 

 

He continues to recreate the moment Keith spoke those words, blunt to the vital points, clear and full of intention. It is an obsessive mantra as he explores the deeps, tries to pry open the dusty shells inside him to gain the pearl of emotion he might find. 

 

It doesn’t feel like a fight though, so it still doesn’t feel like much. 

 

Except when he tries to sleep, he closes his eyes and instead of the nightmares he finds himself there as part of the lightning, Keith infront, shouting to be heard as the storm rages, more hurricane than the downpour they experienced. And then it swells, and he is clashing into violet eyes, violet skies that would throw him down to earth and break him as Keith just smiles and loves him, a hand outstretched which he could just take, just steady himself with. But he likes the rolling thunder, wants to be a lightning rod. 

 

He wakes and it’s the first time he’s not dreamed of war, and again he doesn’t know what that means. 

 

* * *

 

Hunk is full of love. For his friends and family, for Shay and their future. He hugs Lance as they meet and it’s a settling of warmth, melts his bones to comfort. So it’s weird when he says:

 

“I don’t believe in love at first sight. Sorry man, I know you do. But you can’t love someone you don’t know. Sure, Shay and I had this connection but it had to grow to be love. That takes time and effort. Relationships need work.” 

 

Lance doesn’t know how to reply, has sought his friend for a kindred spirit in the world of romance. Disappointed, he mulls the words over. 

 

“But you always seem so sure of everything,” 

 

Hunk smiles, wide and brightly, a vision of joy. 

 

“I’m not sure, I can’t predict the future. But I know I’m willing to try and do my best, that what we have is worth the tricky parts for all the good. You only see the outside, Lance but it’s the balancing and the everyday work that makes things run.” 

 

Lance is thrown, not sure what to make of the words, of the confession from his best friend that Hunk’s movie worthy romance is not so hollywood. Shouldn't there be constant stories, excitement, fantastical elements that make anyone swoon at the sight. Why has he imagined this must be what it is? 

 

Why has he never asked or looked deeper?

 

“Keith told me he’s in love with me.” 

 

This does make a turn for the story books for Hunk’s eyes grow wide and his gossip side emerges on instant. 

 

“What?! When? How? What did you say, what’s happening, Lance why didn’t you start with that!” 

 

Because this was a segue, Lance thinks, a question to edge into a conversation he is not ready for but is bursting to tell. 

 

“Last week, just before he left, I said I needed time and...I don’t know.” 

 

Hunk blinks, just looks for a beat. 

 

“You don’t know?” 

 

He asks in a way that has Lance scrambling for more answers as the tone implies he’s missing the obvious. 

 

“I know I should but I just don’t. I don’t know how I feel.” 

 

Hunk leans back, surveys Lance like he once did with alien technology, that same frown but with more age, more lines and scars of life. Lance is not a puzzle though, he does not warrant that type of scrutiny, or did not believe so until now. Hunk is taking this seriously, his version of a game face on. 

 

“I get that. Have you thought about what it’s like when you’re with him? When it's just the two of you, how you feel then?” 

 

Lance shakes his head for it’s true, he doesn’t try to analyses his emotions when with others, has been so used to bathing in, swallowing the nothingness that it all just blends. He isn’t sure he’ll notice a change when it hits, if it hits, as it’s all a murky mix of blank stray emotions, not sufficient to sew together to make a whole. 

 

However, Hunk is wise and more knowledgeable in this, so Lance does let is his mind wander, casts it back over weeks, months and years. 

 

There’s a lot to revisit. 

 

That in itself is telling, he’d not realises how intertwined his life now is with Keith’s. Their livelihoods are now intermingled; Lance handles almost all their partnership work with the Blade directly through Keith. That forces a co-worker relationship but they’ve never seemed like that, never transactional in their approach. Their bond lies deeper, Lance knows this, has never questioned it. 

 

They’re friends on top of that. They talk because they want to, because he likes the news Keith brings from his travels, likes the updates on Shiro from a perspective he does not have, loves the bad photos of Kosmo Keith takes. And Keith always picks up when he answers; with a bet regarding the latest shipment timings, with a plan of a new place to see in Keith’s oh so limited Earth travel list or with a new podcast he has to listen to now and Lance won’t hang up until he promises to add it to his playlist. 

 

It’s all normal. Friendship. Close friends, now after all this time and history. It does not turn his skin to a striking surface, his heart does not go up in flames with a swipe of recollection. The sheer volume of time they spend in each other’s company is not strange when thought of in that way, even if Lance does see and speak to Keith more than his other friends...and most of his family. 

 

But if it were love, he’d know. How can it be so if it does not feel like reaching for infinity? If it does not consume him, motivate him, direct his every thought? He dreams of war more often than Keith. 

 

And yet, still yet, Lance remains perplexed. 

 

“I spend a lot of time with him, but I don’t...it doesn’t feel like love, ya know? I don’t stay awake thinking about him, he doesn’t take up all the space in my head. I don’t feel like my heart’s in my throat whenever he talks, I don’t spend hours thinking up lines to impress him, I barely even feel nervous!” Lance cries, flapping his hands in frustration because  _ why can’t he just say he doesn’t want him?  _

 

“Is that what you think love is?” 

 

It stops him, world stilling on a hinge of words as Hunk looks back almost sadly at Lance. Which he has no reason to, no justification because Lance does not need pity or remorse, and he’s immediately on the defensive. 

 

“Of course it is, what else would it be?” 

 

Lance’s words are high and snappy, a throwback to years ago in dorm rooms with dreams of space so different from the future he will find himself in. But, in the same manner as Hunk at fourteen reacted, his friend simply wades through the outburst with minimal fanfare. 

 

“You kinda described a crush, man. Puppy love, maybe. Sure, some of that still happens when you’re actually in love with someone, but it’s not everything. Those are just ways it sometimes feels at the start, but not all the time, and it doesn’t stay like that. You can’t love someone and be nervous when you talk, or plan every conversation before you have it.  You can’t live on idealistic dreaming forever, you actually have to get passed that. The boring parts make it work, the others only carry you so far.” 

 

Lance has no idea what Hunk is talking about because he knows love, knows how it’s meant to feel, has known since he was old enough to fall, to dive headfirst into emotion and bury himself in the feeling. He loves love. 

 

He may not have the longevity in his relationships that Hunk does, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t know, can see how they would continue. It doesn’t matter as the start is always the same, that initial bright spark, that infatuation and free-fall: unstoppable, untameable. 

 

He’s still thinking about it hours later, when he crawls into bed, mind weary from soul-searching. This should not be so complicated, should not require such effort, despite Hunk’s insistence. 

 

It’s so loud tonight, his mind craving something else than routine. He needs to escape this, he knows he cannot stay here forever but he cannot think where his interest lies, where passion is since he lost his drive to conflict. So he’s just been hanging on, clinging to things he’d wished for before. He considers, not for the first time just driving away, escaping, even catching a plane…

 

His thoughts stall as he remembers, a flicker of feeling. Suddenly he is back on his last trip with Keith, when a planet had wanted to thank them both in person for the produce they’d received in the wake of a famine. They’d traveled together in a small craft, one of the few times Lance has gone back into space since ceasing to be a Paladin. 

 

He recalls something of the meetings, but all of the journey. Flying, the stars their backdrop, spinning out and upwards, all roars of engines that were not quite the right sort of roars but thunder in their rightness of travelling this way. He’d spent the journey there barely speaking, just marveling, staring, and commenting on Keith’s flying until he’d been laughing at the faces Keith made with every twist and turn, being called a ‘back seat flyer’ and basking in Keith’s own grin as they landed. 

 

“Fly us home?” 

 

They’d been in the hanger, Keith in uniform, pulling back his hair as they suited up. Lance frowned. 

 

“I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to do that?” 

 

Keith shook his ponytail to the side, and cocked his eyebrow. A challenge in gesture. 

 

“Why would that stop you?” 

 

Why indeed when Keith is asking, baiting, staring at him like that, like they’re throwing space snow or racing to hit the ground. So he did. He flew. Keith took co-pilot and Lance was in control, the thrum of the engine, the rattle of components and his focus all in the rush and the dash of the flight.

 

With Keith beside him, in more ways than one. Keith, who does this so much more, knows the craft better than he, directing when needed, answering questions before Lance can voice them, offering support and advice. Encouraging them to go a little faster, to fly that bit higher, for Lance to just  _ go _ because he’s meant for this and it’s not a vast nothingness for a time. It’s not elation because they are not running from an enemy or fighting to learn how to pilot alien technology or crossing the vastness of space. 

 

They have time. It’s just them. It’s homecoming, but it’s not loud and it’s not quiet either, it’s the background noise of existence and it’s simple, lived in. Fits like worn shoes, just as comfy. 

 

They land on time and fine, Lance wanting to hum and bask in the feeling of the flight for as long as he can, as he knows what will follow. As they move to leave, Keith speaks. 

 

“You know, we could do this more.” 

 

Lance looks over, thinking. 

 

“I guess, I mean I was only there as they requested me.” 

 

Keith hesitates, chokes on words and Lance waits as he knows by now he sometimes struggles when he’s trying to correctly articulate thoughts. 

 

“I mean...we could work on more things together. Then this would happen more.” 

 

Lance is thrown as the meaning sinks in, Keith’s eyes finally meeting his by the close of the sentence. They are clear and bold, bright in the fading luminous cabin. 

 

“Are you asking me to join The Blade?” 

 

“If you want to.” 

 

Keith does not blink with his answer, the unwavering Black Paladin returned, leading and striking, knowing without doubt. 

 

But the question is never answered as they are asked to disembark in that moment, and Keith never asks again. Lance has never answered and it’s been almost a month now, as it’s been buried under the daily routines that sink and constrict him when he should be thinking and choosing. 

 

And with that Lance sits up, and his mind is not quiet or loud any longer, and he realises he may have just struck gold. He shakes a little though as he gets out of bed, moves out of the room and to the storage closet downstairs; as often discovering buried treasure comes with a spark of danger in the wake of brilliance. 

 

The notepad is faded and yellowing, but it’s there. The first few pages are full of homework, as this once belonged to Hunk. But there, half way through it starts. 

 

Lance hugs it to his chest and walks back to his room, sparks brimming from nothingness, lighting up the night. 

 

* * *

 

It’s the morning of Keith’s arrival and there is no storm. It’s clear and pleasant, and this actually works for Lance, as he lies back and stares at the sky, waiting. 

 

His fingers tap. There’s a little bit of nerves reaching through, attacking his limbs. But it’s not a magnitude, not stoppering his throat and pulling him under. A little thrill to push him forwards, usher him in. It makes it real. 

 

And that is, he knows now, the issue with all this. What is real. Hunk has, as he usually does, stumbled on the heart of the matter, as Veronica had also opened his eyes to. 

 

Lance has spent a lot of time being in love with the thought of love. Holding out for the adrenaline, for the cliche to tell him when the adventure begins. The picture perfect screen-time of love at first sight, star crossed and fated souls bonds. He longed for the epic, waited for the dramatics. At times he felt them, at times he imagined them and it makes it so much harder to see what is there when he’s been so focused on what he thought he should see. 

 

The highs and the lows exist because of the long spaces in between where love runs like an undercurrent to the mundane. It adds the bright sparks to the grey areas and bolsters what exists. It cannot give purpose and drive him forward because he has to do that himself, and waiting for another to fill that role isn’t fair on them or him. 

 

In any case, Lance is tired, so tired that he feels older than his years without realising sometimes. He chases dreams of war because he’s stuck in loops he cannot get out of and craves highlights because they fill gaping holes in himself. And that is so tiring it’s wearing him thin. A love in extremes is not actually what he needs and really he knows this, knows all of this and can plainly see it in the light of day. 

 

He’s been missing the in between as he’s been striving for the impossible highs while hiding in the lows because it’s easier than making decisions and accepting he needs to change and did not know what he wanted. 

 

He doesn’t have to love like a battlefield or live in quiet repetition because there is something in between he can be. 

 

He sits up as he watches a figure move across the field. He feels the rise of emotion and it’s not quite a summit but it’s a lifting and that is as glorious as falling without the inevitable crash. Keith approaches looking wary, and Lance winces as he stands, knowing a week was a long time to wait with that sort of confession. 

 

“Hey! Right on time.” 

 

Keith smirks, all so familiar in his casual clothes, biker jacket on even though in a few hours it will be far too warm to wear it, just like it always is when he visits. 

 

“I’m not the one who's always late, I’ll leave that to you.” 

 

Lance gasps, pretends to be wounded in words and movement as he stands aside.

 

“Insults after I went to all this effort, Keithy, how dare you!” 

 

That’s when Keith looks past, takes in the full scope of the day. Lance feels the urge to tap his hands return, manifesting in a wobble as they are now outstretched. 

 

_ And yet I thought there was nothing to feel here. _

 

“A...picnic?” 

 

Lance rolls his eyes and walks forward a step toward the blanket and the basket. 

 

“Don’t sound so disappointed, I made all this you know.” 

 

Keith’s eyes widen and Lance can see him struggling to backtrack so he smiles, lets him know there is no insult, then beckons him over. They walk, fall into step for just three paces before they sit, but it’s three paces of belonging and rightness that Lance finds steadying, it’s own kind of thrill. 

 

“What’s the occasion?” Keith asks, and there is the edge of the question unsaid. 

 

So Lance smiles, and passes over the notebook, open to the correct page. He allows Keith to read as he pulls containers out and begins to unpack. 

 

“I still don’t understand, what’s the list for?” Keith says, placing the notebook down and unconsciously flicking a piece of stray hair from his face. Lance watches the movement, tracks it carefully. 

 

“I wrote it in space. It’s a list of all the things I wanted to do when we got back. Over the  years it got quite long. But today covers four of the things, which is well, sort of cheating as three of them are food. I think there are entire pages dedicated to food. But the last one is on that page is the important one.”

 

Lance picks up plates, starts dishing out food but all the while Keith is in his orbit, in the corner of his eye so he can find the moment, discover if he’s done this right. 

 

When it happens, there’s a sharp intake of breath, and Keith clutches the notebook tighter, causing Lance to wonder if he will tear through the paper. A good sign, Lance thinks.

 

“Go on a picnic as a first date. The ‘with Keith’ is in a different colour?” he questions, voice shaking, that piece of hair falling back again. Lance wants to repeat Keith’s movement and tuck it back. 

 

“That part’s new. Added it last night. In fact if you go through, there’s a whole bunch of them with your name next to them. Seventy-five, actually if you want numbers.” 

 

Keith is still clutching the notebook, but his eyes are full of Lance. 

 

“Seventy-five?” 

 

Lance laughs and thinks it’s probably time to move closer. He does, and they are opposite, Keith still as a statue, but he leans reflexively forward, so they are near occupying the same space. Lance wonders if he notices. 

 

“Told you it was a long list. I think there’s over 300 things on it. Most of them are quite boring though, don’t get your hopes up. A lot of food, as I said, that you definitely should try eat with me. I’m gonna ask you to come to on a camping trip with me next summer. And do you know how to jet ski? I always wanted to do that.”

 

He finishes with a grin although he’s babbling and those tiny parts of fear are shadows to each word but Keith looks awed, stunned and he is also smiling, still holding onto the book and still not taking his eyes off Lance as he leans forward. 

 

So Lance leans too. It’s natural, a gravitation. He sees Keith’s eyes close and that is the last he sees before their lips meet. 

 

And here is, at last, the strike of the match. Ignition, convulsion and Lance is not falling but diving into vertigo, soaring and screaming in a kiss. Just a touch then more, lips meeting and smiles growing as it deepens. He feels Keith’s hair in his fingers, hands smooth at his cheeks and he sighs, Keith letting out a huff of breath. It is warm, in his veins and his skin, a gasp and the hint of a bite and he giggles, actually laughing into a first kiss. A kiss all messy and wet and not the contained on screen civility, for he misses occasionally, laughs too hard, and they keep on going for too long. 

 

It’s not what Lance had thought he wanted, thought had existed in his ideological world of romance and falling in love. The hum fades as they part and it’s back to being that gentle reality, even though they are still together, still keeping their foreheads touching so they can and will lean in again for more of the cresting waves, the pounding heartbeats. 

 

Hunk is right. Before now, he had not had a chance to go past infatuation. But as all love is unique, this time he had not even recognised infatuation when it turned up in a mask and cape, didn’t see the beginnings to understand why it tipped this far into new territory. 

 

He once had a list of comebacks for Keith, once stared at the back of his head in classes for hours on end. He followed him to save Shiro, missed him like a part of his mind departed during the years he spent away from Voltron, went to him each and every time he wasn’t sure of his own self. Just like Veronica and Acxa, his elation on seeing him on that screen so long ago was a sure of sign of embedded care and longing. But not in it’s right time, in its right place. They needed their own methods and spaces to move towards their own versions of love, for that he knows now, is what this is. 

 

For love can be quiet and sometimes quiet is the root of all things, that constant stream which becomes a roar when it wants and dissolves to nothing when it needs. What makes it love is the consistency, the enduring nature, it’s ability to change and shape with both of them. The background of all things. 

 

Lance forces himself away from Keith with that thought, moving to sit up and look, just take in the image of him kiss tousled and off kilter. It’s a good image, a keeper. 

 

“I love you,” he says, and it feels so right it’s beyond words. A direction that is natural. For it occurs as the beginning of one part when another has ended, the start of a sequel, one to better the first. 

 

“I love you too,” Keith says, and it makes even more sense in context.

 

Lance hands him a plate, and then remembers. 

 

“Oh, and I accept your job offer. But your not my boss. That’s weird, I can’t date my boss. How does it work anyway, do you even have a hierarchy system?” 

 

Keith literally chokes on a mouthful of rice and Lance has to lean over and hit him on the back, and it’s good, oh so good to still be able to keep him on his toes despite declarations and kisses. They are still them and they are still the foundations supporting this new development. 

 

For a picnic in a field on his family farm with the person he crushed on in school years long ago is not the same as a war of the stars, but he is chasing their unique reality, a life in between too high and too low. Lance knows, as Keith looks up and glares but the excitement is there, that he still has a way to go, still is partly numb and reliving years of terror but this is a turn upwards. 

 

A romance of their own together, built on something grown without reason. And that in itself, in it’s normalcy, is exhilarating.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome and appreciated! 
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/) and [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com).


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